Fragments
by Ashana
Summary: Formerly titled Paint Chips Jane just wanted a normal job as a patrol officer after moving with her family to Portland. Now she's found herself assigned to a special unit in the Boring Lava Fields of central Oregon...4th Chapter REWRITTEN!
1. Introductions

**Paint Chips**

**Chapter 1: Introductions**

Mount St. Hillary, Jane Cregan decided, wasn't as pretty as all the brochures made it out to be. She craned her neck and pressed the side of her face against the cool glass of the cruiser, squinting at the orange-red volcanic husk sticking out of the sky. They were still a good twenty minutes away from the mountain, rolling down a path shaded only by the claws of sleeping trees. She could hardly imagine how large it would be once they reached the base.

"You mind if I smoke?" Sergeant Brice glanced across the tangle of radios and wires separating the drivers and passenger's seats.

Jane shook her head. "No sir, not at all." She watched as he cracked down the window, allowing a chill of air to slip through, and lit up. He wasn't exactly what she had been expecting when she accepted the job with the Portland Police Department. Brice was short and thick, though not overweight. There was a prominent vein in his neck, and the very tips of his fingers were stained yellow with nicotine. He couldn't have been more than forty five, but his dark hair was already streaked with gray.

"This area is called the Boring Lava Fields," Brice jabbed at the trees surrounding the road with his thick fingers. "Used to be a ton of volcanoes 'round here way back when. They're all dormant now." He slowed the car as they drove over a small bridge, which was spanning an equally small river. "We usually patrol all over this area, 'specially on Fridays 'n' Saturdays. The big boys can't keep an eye on everything."

Jane gripped the edges of her seat as the car bounced over a rock in the road, which was becoming less paved and more gravel as they drove on. "That reminds me," she winced as a rock scraped against the undercarriage of the surprisingly resilient cruiser, "You haven't told me what this 'special squad' I've been assigned to is. Isn't this a little out of the Portland jurisdiction?"

"All in good time, kiddo," Brice reassured her. Jane almost balked; she was twenty-eight, and hadn't been called a 'kid' since she had graduated with a Masters in Police Science nearly four years ago. "Now, the cruiser we got set up for ya is a jeep, so it'll handle all these back roads with ease. Ya won't be goin' patrolling by yourself 'til you've gotten all these roads memorized, though."

Jane reached down for the bottle of Dr Pepper squished between her feet. "Just how big is the area we patrol?"

"Forty square miles," Brice grinned as she choked on the sugary drink. "Mount St. Hillary is squat in the middle. We cover the forest, the lava fields, and the roads goin' in and comin' out."

"Why is this mountain so important?" Jane wiped the sticky soda off her chin, "It's a dormant volcano, isn't it? There's no danger there."

Brice snorted in surprise and shook his head. "Don't you watch the news or read the paper?"

"I have a twelve-month-old daughter," Jane reminded him. "The only thing I get to watch anymore is Dora the Explorer or Mickey Mouse."

The sergeant chuckled and turned onto a side road that brought them deeper into the forest. "So what made an east-coaster like you move out to Portland?" He caught the corners of Jane's mouth twitch down before smoothing out.

"My father-in-law has cancer," she pressed her forehead against the window and watched the trees crowd closer to the road, growing thicker the closer they got to the majestic, dead volcano. "Some kind of bone cancer; it moves slow, but it's hard to fight." Her fingers tapped the door handle absently. "Conner, my husband, wanted to be close during the chemo and surgery."

"Ah. I'm, uh, sorry." Brice pulled the car to a stop near the edge of the road and shut off the engine. Jane gave him an odd look as he spoke into the radio clipped to his shoulder, a hand cupped around his mouth to keep the words muffled.

"Is everything alright?"

He nodded, silenced the radio and turned to face her. "What did the chief tell you about your new job?"

"Lets see…Chief Hall told me it was a special job concerning the safety of Portland and the surrounding towns and that I would be working closely with a large military unit."

Brice resisted the urge to smash his face against the steering wheel. "Of course he did. Leave it to Hall to forget all the important stuff." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, next question: What do you know about the Autobots?"

"The _Autobots?_" Apprehension began to gnaw at the edge of Jane's stomach. "You don't mean those big robot aliens that landed here a few years ago?"

Brice nodded.

"What do the aliens have to do with the Portland PD?" Jane's fingers gripped the edge of the Datsun's bucket seats.

"You technically _aren't_ a member of the Portland PD." Brice settled back in his seat. "We use their jail, and call for backup when we need it, but that's it. "We have our own headquarters at Mount St. Hillary, and our own squad cars and lab." He rubbed his forehead. "We answer straight to the state government, and they answer to the feds."

Jane gave him a blank look. "I don't get it," she crossed her arms and sat back. "What do the aliens have to do with anything? Don't they live farther north, in Washington?"

Brice shook his head and gripped the steering wheel. "It'll be faster just to show you," he pulled the car back onto the road. His shift was nearly over, and as much as he liked the new girl, he didn't want to stay on longer than necessary.

Frowning and thoroughly irked, Jane settled back in her seat and watched as the road tilted upwards and crawled towards the mountain looming in the distance. All too soon, the ground leveled out and Brice pulled the car around a sharp bend. Mount St. Hilary loomed above them, an alien space craft buried deep in the base.

Standing near the blast doors of the alien base were three uniformed officers, deep in conversation. Between them, adding his own two cents to the discussion was a bright yellow robot only a few feet taller than his companions.

"Jane, welcome to the Ark." Brice pulled the car up to the entrance and cut the engine. The three humans and the robot looked at the car expectantly, conversation cut short. The sergeant climbed out of the cruiser and rolled his eyes as the four snapped off mock salutes. "Cut it out," he growled. "Get over here and meet our newest recruit." He glanced at the car and was surprised to see Jane still sitting in the passenger's seat, fingers dug deeply into the plush chair.

"I think you broke her, Sarge." The older of the officers ran a hand over his blonde buzz cut.

"She looks real freaked out," the younger of the two men shoved his hands deep in his pockets. "Wasn't she briefed about the 'bots?"

Brice glanced at the yellow bot. "No. Hall left out the Autobots, and every other important detail of this job. He's probably still angry that we got her instead of him." He ran a hand over his thinning hair. "No offense, Bumblebee, but could you give us a few minutes?"

Bee nodded. "Sure thing, Sarge, but what about Prowl?" He paused, optics darkening as he picked up a quick transmission, and nodded. "Oh, okay. Night guys!" With a cheery wave, he disappeared through the blast doors.

The third officer – a slim woman with light hair and a locket around her neck – popped open the passenger door. "You okay, sweetie?"

Jane blinked, snapping out of her daze, and looking up with a frown, "Yeah. Sorry." She muttered, unbuckling her stiff seatbelt. "It's just a lot to take in." The woman stepped back, allowing Jane to climb out of the cruiser.

"Oh trust me, we've all been there." She grabbed Jane's nearly-forgotten purse and swung the door shut. "Hall is a real ass, not telling you about any of this. I thought that was his _job_." She looked at her companions. "Why else would he sit around behind a desk all day?"

"Watch it, Patterson," Brice warned, though there was no real conviction in his voice. The woman merely beamed a smile and wink in his direction. "Jane, come over here please. Time to meet the team."

The uniformed officers lined up before their Sergeant, looking smart in their pressed, light blue uniforms and shining black boots. The two men flanked the woman, who looked decidedly pleased with the arrangement.

"Jane, this is Officer Zach West," the tall blonde man nodded. "Officer Matthew Brooks," the younger man winked at her through his thin, wire-rimmed glasses. "And the bane of my existence, Amanda Patterson," The woman stuck her tongue out at him, fists shoved against her hips. "Team, this is Jane Cregan. She's one of us now, so make her feel welcome." They nodded and moved forward to shake her hand.

"Welcome to the Autohumes, Jane!" Matthew shoved his glasses up his nose.

"Autohumes?"

They laughed at the curious (and slightly worried) look on her face. "Well, we're not bots right?" Amanda flicked Matthew's ear, "Although I have some doubts about our resident geek. I still can't believe Wheeljack hasn't replaced your arm with a high flammable weapon yet."

"I'm not a geek, I'm a technology enthusiast. And Wheeljacks not that bad," he took a step away from Amanda.

"He nearly blew my head off!"

"You weren't supposed to be in that hall in the first place!"

Zach rolled his eyes and stepped closer to Jane, speaking above the bickering pair. "Since we're always working with the Autobots, we decided to call ourselves Auto_humes_." He showed her the red, face-like patch sewed onto his left shoulder. "Well, actually it was Bluestreak that came up with the name, but once he started using it, it stuck."

Jane blinked at him then began to rub her forehead, feeling a migraine coming on. "Oie vey…"

Their argument finished (Brice had smacked them both on the back of the head and told them to behave, before stalking off to finish his cigarette near the car), Matthew walked back over and frowned. "You getting a headache? There's some Aleve at HQ."

"No, no," she shook her head, looking at the three, er, Autohumes. "I'm sorry, but it feels like I just walked into a bad 'Men in Black' spoof."

"Heh, get used to it." Zach glanced at the cruiser. "It'll get easier over time, trust me. The 'bots are good guys, you'll like them."

Amanda was worried. They'd been one officer short for nearly two months now. The government _hated _dealing with the Autohumes. Finding a good police officer for their team was a serious hassle. The government, Chief Hall, the local Sheriffs, and the Autobots had to approve. All forty of the currently employed officers had been handpicked for their skills. Zach was an accomplished sharp shooter and had eyes like a hawk. Matthew was incredible with technology and had a knack for fixing the HQs computers, not to mention he got along fabulously with the science-minded Autobots. Amanda had K9 training and was the most social out of the four, and was usually called when they ran into rowdy trespasses. This new woman, Jane, was supposed to have a good record from her old precinct on the east coast. She was in her late twenties, and had a look in her eyes Amanda recognized. She saw it often in scared and hurt animals. Jane was fighting her fight or flight instincts, and looked ready to bolt at any moment. Obviously, aliens had not been what she was thinking of when she took the job. She was absent mindedly spinning a white-gold wedding band around her ring finger.

"You're married, aren't ya?" Jane glanced down at the ring meaningfully.

"Yeah, I am," the new recruit shoved her hands in her pocket to keep herself from fiddling.

Amanda grinned widely and threw her arm around her shoulder. "Do you have any children?" Jane nodded. "Then you, my dear, are in the perfect department!" She pulled her away from the others. "This is the safest gig in Portland. There's, like, a zero percent chance of being shot!"

Jane paused. "Really?"

"Yeah," Amanda could see relief in her eyes. "The bots take a while to get used to, and you're going to have to survive the twins 'initiation,' but it really is a good job." She beamed. "Stick around a while, and you'll see!"

Brice extinguished his half-finished cigarette and sidled up beside his new officer. "Jane, no one can make you stay. There's a week-long clause on the contract, and you can leave if you're uncomfortable. But I've seen your record, and I would really like to have you as a member of our team."

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Alright, I'll give it a shot." She muttered. "Heck, we've already moved in. Might as well see what these Autobots are like." She flashed her new coworkers a smile. It was quickly returned.

"Great!" Matthew slapped her shoulder. "You want the grand tour?" Without waiting for an answer, he dragged her towards a large trailer set up against the mountain base, near the blast doors. **Portland PD – Autobot Division **was printed in foot-high letters on the white siding.

Brice leaned against the hood of the Datsun, arms folded across his chest. Amanda and Zach followed Matthew into the trailer, greeting the woman's hyper K9 companion on their way in. "Well, Prowl, what do you think?"

The car hummed in thought. "Her record is impressive. One speeding ticket pre-employment, several arrests, several drug busts, and no job-related casualties. Her husband is an English teacher at a nearby high school. Both have masters degrees, and have produced one offspring."

The sergeant rolled his eyes. "They have a _kid_, Prowl."

"That's what I said."

**Authors Note: **Alright, here's my second shot at writing Paint Chips. I'm a Police Science major, and in a few years I'll have my bachelors and soon after that a masters. I always wondered how the Autobots handled the local police forces, and this idea bloomed. I hope ya'll like it! Reviews are much appreciated, especially **critics**! I'm always looking to better my writing. Thanks to Sinead and my friend Tim for beta reading!

3 Ashana


	2. Meetings

**Thank you for all the reviews!**

**NineCrow & Knocks: **Glad you're interested in seeing more!

**Elita One: **No, she most certainly does not.

**Fire From Above: **Thanks! Glad to know my writing isn't shaky!

**Thornwitch: **No forest rangers – the officers kinda do it all themselves. Hound helps though.

**Soului: **Thanks! Humor is always a good way to round off a chapter! Humor and cliffhangers!

Now, on with the story!

**Paint Chips**

**Chapter 2: Meetings**

Conner looked across the dinner table at his wife. "I can't tell if you're joking or not." He confessed, reaching over to wipe a dribble of chocolate milk from his daughters chin. She giggled and grabbed at her bib, tugging on it. Jane reached out to untie the bib and lifted her daughter from her high chair. "Mama!" The baby settled happily in her mother's lap and sucked on her fingers.

"I'm not," Jane smoothed her baby's hair. "Has she learned anything other than 'mama' or 'daddy' yet?"

"She can say a few other words. Ball, toy and doll," Conner frowned. "You're avoiding the issue, Jane. Are you really going to be working near the Autobots?" He put down his fork, a sliver of roast beef still speared on the end. "Isn't that dangerous?"

Jane bounced Gabrielle on her knee. "No, according to Amanda and Sergeant Brice, it's a very safe job. It has to be safer than my old patrols, at least."

"What about those bad robots?" Conner tapped his fingers on the table, a nervous habit he had learned from his father. "I've seen the reports. Those robots have battles that span entire cities!"

She gave him a wry grin. "Honey, it's a patrol route, nothing too dangerous. The Autobots ask for our help to keep nosy humans away from their base. They told me that at the first sign of a Decepticon, I'm supposed to run to the nearest Autobot and report it. We don't mess with 'em."

Conner shoved his peas around his plate. "Have you met any of the robots yet?"

"No. I'm supposed to meet their security director and one of their commanders tomorrow for a formal meeting and introduction." She looked down at Gabrielle, who had begun to yawn and rub at her eyes with tight little fists. "I think it's somebody's bed time."

The baby opened her eyes and looked up at her, "Nooooo!"

Jane shot her husband an accusing look. "You didn't tell me she learned that word!"

~*~

"You're shaking." Brice checked the A/C. It was late November, and the temperature had been steadily dropping since early October. The heat was blowing, warming the inside of the cruiser, but Jane was still trembling.

"I'm about to meet a couple of giant, alien robots," she snapped tensely. "I think I'm allowed to shake." Her heavy winter jacket covered her new uniform, which was identical to the other officers except for one small difference: there was no Autobot patch on the left shoulder.

Brice had explained with a serious expression on his face when she had pointed it out. "You have to earn your Autobot badge, Jane. They don't make just anyone an honorary 'bot. You do your best, and you keep up and make sure no one's getting hurt or in trouble near the Ark, and you'll get one in no time."

Now, she had her hands wrapped around herself, hands clutching at the empty shoulders in a vain attempt to quell her shaking. The sergeant turned the heat down a bit and pulled onto the road leading up to the volcano. "What's gotten into you?" He asked, sounding sincerely worried. "You were up here last night and weren't shaken up all that much."

Jane pursed her lips and sank back in her seat. "I did some research," she admitted. "Stayed up late last night on the internet, lookin' up everything I could about the Autobots and Decepticons."

Brice closed his eyes, stomach sinking like a stone. "Ah Jane, you didn't," but the look on her face was enough to confirm that she did. "You can't trust any of the stuff on the internet, you know. The Autobots are good people. There's_ nothing _to worry about." He reached over to rest a hand on her shoulder, and felt her shudder. "What exactly did you look at?"

"News articles, pictures, videos…" She trailed off with another shudder. "There were videos of fights, _battles_, taking place in the middle of cities and neighborhoods and factories…" She gave him a sideways look. "There was a _lot _of blood."

"Fox should be sued and shut down for shooting that video." He grunted, pulling up to the trailer and stopping the car. "If you don't want to do this, Jane, I can take you back to the station."

"No! No. I said I would give it a shot." She ran a hand through her hair and was silent for a moment, before blurting out, "But one of them went straight through a building!"

"They do have a tendency to do that," Brice popped open the driver's side door. "But they've never really hurt anyone. The cities are usually evacuated at the first sign of Decepticons." He hauled himself out of the car. Jane followed, buttoning up her jacket and pulling her scarf from one of the large pockets.

She unraveled the red fabric and wrapped it around her neck. "So who exactly am I meeting today?" Brice had already lit up a new cigarette and was tucking his lighter in his pocket.

"First off will be Red Alert," he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and rolled the cigarette between his teeth; "He's the Security Director for the Ark and the surrounding area. You'll be reporting to him at the end of your patrols." He led the way up the creaking wooden steps to the trailer. Jane scrambled after him, eager to be away from the biting cold of late November.

The trailer was a double wide, held up on creaking wheels that had dug ruts into the earth. The white siding was had a distinct brownish tint from the occasional dust storms, and the banner **Portland PD – Autobot Division **was peeling, and one of the 'I' dots was missing. Inside the trailer, however, was a completely different story.

Thick beige carpet stretched from one wall to the other, complimenting white-washed walls and light oak window panels. To one side of the door were several desks, each set up with an expensive computer system. An older desk was weighed down with a scanner, a printer, and an electronic fingerprint scanner. A tall metal cabinet was wedged in the corner farthest from the door, guarding over the desks. There was a heavy padlock thread through the handles with a thick chain.

The other side of the trailer was completely different. A small kitchenette, complete with a refrigerator, microwave and sink was nestled in the back near the tiny bathroom. A card table had been set up, outfitted with several mismatched kitchen chairs. A sofa was pressed against the wall beneath one window, across from an incredibly large flat-screen TV, which was mounted on the wall. Posters coated the wall, featuring everything from the Autobot emblem to the newest Chevy police cruiser.

Brice made a beeline for the kitchenette, and mere moments later he had a coffee machine set up and brewing. Jane sat at the card table, watching him with a small smile. "Why is the coffee maker hidden under the sink?"

The sergeant grimaced. "Because Ratchet hates coffee," he pulled a wicker basket from one of the cabinets and looked at the few packets of sugar left in the bottom. "If _any _of the Autobots ask, we only drink decaff."

Jane stuck out her tongue, "Ew. That stuff has no kick. How are we supposed to stay up all night protecting them?"

"We're not," he held up a can of Folgers Instant. "This is the good stuff, but if they _ask_, tell them different. You want sugar in yours?"

"Yeah," Jane stood and joined him at the counter, pulling out one of the pink packets of Splenda. "So tell me more about this Red Alert."

Brice snorted. "He's a good mech. Paranoid as hell, but a good guy none the less. There's only one real problem," he looked at her from the corner of his eye. "He _hates _humans. Absolutely _loathes_ them."

"You're joking!" Jane's wide eyes revealed her shock, and he had to chuckle at the surprise in her face.

"No, I'm not. He doesn't like us one bit. Has something to do with the fact that it's easier for us to lie and get away with it." He tapped the side of his head. "We can't have a brain scan like they can. Brice leaned towards her with an evil grin, "And he's completely _terrified _of germs." Straightening up, he rummaged for a pair of mugs and pulled the coffee pot off the burner. "Alright, bottoms up. You're going to need your strength for Red Alerts lecture."

"Lecture?" Jane filled her mug and shook in three packets of sugar.

Brice gave her a look of pity and 'I'm so glad I'm not you.' "Yes. You're security clearance. Amanda managed to get out in just less than six hours." He took a gulp of his dark coffee. "We'll see if you can beat her score."

~*~

An hour later, Jane was wondering if she could convincingly fake a seizure. She sunk back in the sofa, eyes focused on the white and red robot that was filling up the screen on the opposite wall. At first she had been relieved that she wasn't meeting one of the robots up close and personal yet, but she was beginning to think that it would have been more interesting. Brice had bowed out after the first fifteen minutes, claiming that he needed a quick smoke. He had yet to return.

Red Alert had introduced himself, stated his rank, and then went off on a tangent that rivaled that of her tenth grade history teacher. He was going over everything, carefully articulating his statements while speaking at a speed that left her in the dust. Maybe she could fake a migraine?

Nearly eighty minutes into the spiel (he was just starting on Rabid Skunks, which had apparently been a problem last spring), the red and black robot at the monitor behind him turned to look at Jane. His blue eyes lit up when their gaze met, and a large grin split his face. He glanced at Red Alerts back, and then did something that made this meeting phenomenally more interesting.

He stuck his tongue out at her.

The edges of her mouth twitched, and the officer quickly moved her gaze back to Red Alert. He hadn't noticed her lapse in attention and continued to lecture on the proper way to disarm a skunk and take it into custody for questioning. The crimson robot made another face, dimming one of his eyes and wrinkling up the stiff plating that made his nose. Jane pressed her lips together, and did her best to ignore his antics. She managed to last for almost ten more minutes. The red med scooted behind Red Alert, allowing him to look over the Security Directors shoulder. He stuck his bottom lip out and tilted his eyes upwards, pouting at her with a sad look akin to a robot puppy dog. His look then suddenly flip-flopped into a crazy expression she didn't think a robot could make. With his bright red helm, it almost reminded her of the famous prop-comic, Carrot Top.

Jane was done in. The boredom of the lecture broke as she burst into giggles, and the red mech grinned in triumph before quickly spinning around to focus on his screens. Red Alert, his lecture thoroughly derailed, turned and glowered at the back of his head. Then, much to Jane's surprise, he began to yell.

The sound system one of the Autobots had built into the trailer (Brice had called him the bot Jazz, but she really couldn't believe that was his name) blared to life. The foreign clicks and beeps shook the dirty coffee cups on the card table. Clapping her hands over her ears, Jane scrambled off the couch and ran pell-mell towards the door. It was thrown open just as she reached it, and Brice barely had time to utter a startled yelp before being bowled over. The two officers somersaulted to the dirt, Red Alert's alien voice echoing in their ears. The heavy door slowly swung shut and cut off the static, much to their relief.

"What the hell was that about?" Brice demanded as he sat up, rubbing at his throbbing ears. He glance down at his new subordinate and felt his stomach drop.

Jane blinked blood out of her eye and reached up to probe the gash that had opened her right brow. She groaned, "Ow."

"Great," Brice leaned over her, a frown etched deep on his face. "That's gonna need stitches." He pulled a clean tissue from his pocket and pressed it against her forehead. "Alright, let's get you to the ER. There's one about twenty minutes north of here."

The radio clipped to his belt crackled to life, making both of them jump. "Please take Mrs. Cregan to the Medical Bay, Sergeant Brice." An emotionless, clipped voice broke through the static.

"It's not _that _bad, Prowl. She can survive until we reach the hospital." The man argued.

There was silence for a moment. "No," the voice replied. "Any injuries acquired while on the job will be attended to by Ratchet. He is closer and skilled in organic medicine."

"Skilled my ass…"

"I will not argue this point with you, Robert." The radio clicked off.

Brice, grimacing at the mention of his first name, hauled Jane to her feet. "Congrats, kid. You get to meet the CMO today." He threw one of her arms over his shoulder and grabbed her around the waist. She wiped blood from her cheek and nose with the sleeve of her uniform.

"Goody. What's a CMO?"

"Chief Medical Officer," They began to hobble towards the Ark. "You get to meet Ratchet the Hatchet."

~*~

**Authors Note: Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews! Ya'll are wonderful! I've been jotting down possible endings for this chapter in my creative writing course over the past few weeks, and finally got one I'm satisfied with. I hope ya'll are too! This story isn't dead, it's just slow. Like an opossum caught in the headlights of a tractor with a broken wheel. It's not gone, just glacial.**

**3 Ya'll! **

**~Ashana **


	3. Stitches and Decaf

**Thanks for all the wonderful reviews!**

**Mixchick: **Of course! What other kind of Ratchet is there?

**Thornwitch: **Underwear bomb? Where? Did Wheeljack touch it? Ahhhhh!

**Soului: **Thanks so much! :3 I try and keep my stories as realistic as possible so people can connect & be able to see the images I'm trying to create!

**Flower K. Owl: **Wait no more! It is here! :)

**Paint Chips**

**Chapter 3: Stitches and Decaff**

Bumblebee hated driving past the encampment on his way to the base. Lurking among the vast mish-mash of canvas and polyester tents were some of the worst humans he had ever encountered. Prime and Prowl insisted they be ignored, despite Red Alerts pleading that they take out a restraining order against the entire organization. The VW Bug revved his engine and tried to merge into the inside lane of the highway. If he could pull up beside the semi ahead of him, it might be possible to sneak by.

Whistles and bells began to blare as the guards patrolling the camps perimeter spotted the large red Autobot patch on his hood. Men, women and children alike rushed to the edge of the road, rotten fruit and large rocks clutched in their hands. Bumblebee tried to merge once more, but the heavy five o'clock traffic made it impossible. The impromptu weapons took flight, smashing against yellow paint and metal. Bumblebee winced as a rock cracked the corner of his windshield, closely followed by a barrage of brown and bruised tomatoes.

Behind the Autobot, someone slowed and waved him into the inside lane. Honking his horn in thanks, Bumblebee merged and hit the gas, speeding past the encampment and towards home. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he really, _really_ hated those humans.

* * *

Jane was beginning to see stars, and they weren't the good kind. Brice tightened his grip around her waist, doing his best to keep her upright as they trekked through the base. The medical bay was in the center of the compound, well protected from any type of enemy attack. The sergeant wished he had asked Prowl to send them a ride; the bleeding had slowed but hadn't stopped, and despite her insistence that she was fine he was getting worried.

"Hey, we're here," he gently shook her shoulder, shifting her weight so he could knock on the door. It slid open as soon as his knuckles brushed against the orange steel.

"If you're not dying then get out," Ratchet snapped, not turning from his workbench.

"Be nice, doc," Brice chided, helping Jane inside the doors. They swept closed behind them with a _whoosh_, locking them in the med bay with the infamous Hatchet.

The medic dropped his tools and sighed. "Primus above, Brice, what did you do to yourself now?" Wiping his hands on a rag, he turned and paused his rant. "Oh. Who's this?" He crossed the room, already running intense scans over the bleeding human.

"This is Jane, our newest officer. Jane, this is Ratchet, the Autobot medic."

The woman tilted her head back, and back, and back until she could see his face. Her eyes widened for a moment beneath the gauze pressed against her forehead. "You're…very tall."

"And you've lost a lot of blood. What happened?" He crouched down before the two officers.

"She fell down the stairs of the trailer. For some reason Red Alert began to yell in Cybertronian. Nearly blew my ear drums out," Brice grumbled.

"Hn," Ratchet reached out and scooped up the two humans. Jane jumped, every muscle in her body going rigid. Brice merely grabbed a digit and held on. The medic gently deposited them on the nearest berth. "Sit down and hold still," he demanded, flexing his fingers.

Brice sat behind Jane, keeping his hands on her shoulder. "You might want to close your eyes," he suggested quietly. The woman did as he said, her oddly heavy eyelids falling closed quite easily. She didn't see Ratchet's optics magnify, or the tips of his fingers split into basic medical tools.

"Don't move," he warned, picking off the gauze pressed against the gash. The cut was deep and ragged, and a few wood splinters had adhered to the blood. Swiftly, he medic produced a damp cloth and wiped away the sticky residue, clearing the splinters and dirt from the wound. A needle appeared alongside the tweezers holding the cloth, tailed with a thick black thread. Ratchet carefully lined up the needle and, within a minute, was done. The three inch gash was neatly sewn closed; the stitches equally spaced and exactly placed. He stopped back, fingers folding together.

"Alright, I'm done." He returned to his work bench and rummaged through one of the drawers. After a moment he produced a sleeping bag wound tightly around a pillow. "Here," he dropped it into Brice's awaiting arms and glanced at his newest patient. Her eyes were open, and she was carefully running her fingers over the stitching. "Don't mess with it," Ratchet snapped, catching her attention and making her jump. "Lie down on the sleeping bag and get some rest."

Jane frowned and began to protest, "But I still have to meet with the Second in Command today!"

Brice shook out the sleeping bag and laid it away from the edge of the berth before neatly adding the pillow. "Prowl won't mind waiting until tomorrow. You need to lie down for a while. Let your body make up some of the blood you've lost."

Jane looked from Ratchet to Brice and saw to chance of them changing their minds. She sighed and sat down on the soft nylon, "Fine. You're as bad as my mother-in-law."

Brice chuckled and patted her head. "Take a nap, Jane. I'll come get you when it's time to leave." She fell back on the impromptu bed.

"I'll keep an eye on her," Ratchet promised as he lifted Brice off the table and set him on the ground.

"I know," he patted the medics' hand, "I'll be back in a few hours."

"No hurry," Ratchet smirked, "Don't want your ugly mug scaring my patients."

"Too late for that Hatchet," Brice made a hasty exit. "You're ugly face scares them far worse than my pretty features!" He escaped into the hall. Ratchet shook his head and checked on Jane. She was fast asleep, deaf to their playful banter.

* * *

Bumblebee managed to sneak back into the base without being seen. He avoided the cameras and the commons, making a beeline for the medbay. For a moment he considered going to his room and allowing his self-repair system to take care of the cracks and dents, but the thought of facing Ratchet's wrath made him reconsider. After sending Jazz a message explaining the situation, he ducked into the medbay.

Ratchet took one look at Bumblebee and felt his good mood evaporate. He pointed to the berth closest to his work bench and gathered up the tools he would need to fix his youngest charge. Bee pulled himself onto the nearest berth and stared at his feet.

"It's not your fault," the medic reassured, noting his crestfallen expression. "Those humans don't understand what's going on.' He took a cloth and wiped away the dried tomato juice that was smeared across Bee's Autobot Symbol.

"Why do they hate us so much? We're trying to help them." He voice sounded very young and forlorn.

"I know," Ratchet flicked a piece of mango off the yellow mechs shoulder, "But they've lost people in the crossfire. They have a right to be angry. They're just angry at the wrong side."

Bee made a disappointed noise in the back of his throat. "We've lost friends too. Why can't they see that?"

"Humans are notoriously short-sighted," the medic began to remove Bee's cracked windshield for repairs, "and grief is a dangerous weapon."

The yellow mech's frown deepened as he watched Ratchet work. After a few moments of silence he couldn't take it anymore. "Damn those humans!" He slammed his fist down on the table.

Ratchet shot the minibot a glare. "Hush. You're not my only patient today."

Bee looked around the bay in confusion; he hadn't seen any of his comrades-in-arms when he came in. A blue and brown lump on one of the berths caught his attention. "Oh, that's Brice's new officer, right?"

"Mhmm," Ratchet carefully knocked out the glass from the windshield frame. "She cut her head but Prowl wouldn't let her go to the ER."

"You _are _the ER," Bee watched as the woman stirred, "I think she's waking up."

Ratchet paused and ran a scan over the sleeping bag. "You're right. Can you get some of Spike's water from the cooler?" He pointed to the white freezer in the corner of the room. Bee hopped off the berth and retrieved one of the bottles, pinching it carefully between his fingers. Spike and Sparkplug had installed it after they began their medical training, and Ratchet always made sure it was well stocked with water and Gatorade.

Bumblebee set the bottle beside Jane and hopped back upon his own berth. The woman stretched her arms above her head and sat up with as sleepy smile.

"How are you feeling?" Ratchet asked. The woman jumped, eyes flying open, hand automatically reaching for her Glock. She paused, partly because she had no gun, mostly because she recognized the medic.

"Oh, uh, hi," she looked from one mech to the other, hands falling into her lap. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"How are you feeling?" Ratchet repeated slowly.

Jane scratched the back of her head. "Um, dizzy. And thirsty. Really thirsty."

Ratchet nodded at the water bottle. "Drink that. The whole thing.' He turned back to his work. The woman picked up the chilled bottle and shook it curiously.

"Um, this isn't something weird, is it?"

Bumblebee laughed. "It's just water," he reassured her, "Nothing alien about it."

Jane unscrewed the lid and sniffed it before taking a careful sip. It _was _just water, and she took a deep drink that emptied nearly half the bottle."So, I know Mr. Ratchet, but who are you?"

"I'm Bumblebee," the spy introduced himself. "I do a lot of patrols with you guys," he swung his legs back and forth, a big smile on his face.

"I'm Jane," she drank another fourth of the bottle. "Um, are you alright? You look a little roughed up."

Bee brushed a hand over his dented shoulder. "Yeah," he grumbled, sounding depressed once more. "The Antibots got the jump on me during five o'clock traffic."

"Antibots?" Jane finished off the bottle and toyed with the cap. "Are those a type of Decepticon?"

Ratchet laughed bitterly. "They're much worse than any of the cons," he reformed the edge of the windshield frame, "They're _humans._"

"Um, should I be insulted?"

Bee shook his head. "No, that isn't what he meant. The Antibots are a group of humans who don't want us here on Earth. Some of them are religious, some have lost friends and family, others just want someone to blame for this planet's problems." He sighed, shoulders slumping. "They have a camp just outside the patrol routs. You'll see them a lot."

"Great," Jane shook her head, "From one gang of idiots to another."

"You've deal with gangs before?" Ratchet asked curiously, turning from his work.

She snorted. "I'm from the Virginia Mountains. We had to deal with skinheads every other day."

"Skinheads?" Both mechs focused their attention on her.

"Skinheads are a group of white supremacists," she explained carefully, "They believe that only white people with certain religious beliefs should be in America and be able to have money and power. They follow the teachings of Hitler, the German leader from World War II. Basically, they're a bunch of redneck racists." She crossed her legs and propped her chin on her fists. "Like Charles Manson, only less organized."

"I thought America was supposed to be a 'melting pot' of all different races and cultures." Bee looked confused.

Jane grinned. "Just 'cause it's _supposed _to be a culturally acceptable country doesn't always mean it _is_. Practices do not always follow theory."

Ratchet shook his head. "Trust me kid, we know that all too well."

"You're giant mechanical beings from a highly advanced planet. What do you have to be prejudice about?"

The two mechs shared a long look. Bee sighed and began to tick off the examples on his fingers. "Mechs against femmes, land forms against flight forms, poor against rich, normal bot against minibot, warrior against civilian, law enforcement against criminals, young against old," he slowed looking at his extended digits, "Autobot against Decepticon."

Jane whistled. "I have a lot to learn about you guys, don't I?"

"You'll learn," Ratchet reassured her. "You're one of us now, after all."

"Yeah," Bumblebee immediately cheered up. "We take care of our own!"

Jane tapped her shoulder, where the Autobot symbol would eventually, _hopefully_, be sewn on. "I'm not an Autohume yet."

"That's just a technicality," Bee waved his hand, a big smile on his face. "Since we're stuck here, do you have any questions 'bout us?"

"Yeah, a _ton_," she tapped her chin. "First question, what's a minibot?"

"A midget robot," Brice answered from the door as it slid open to admit him. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Jane prodded the stitches across her forehead. "Mr. Ratchet did a good job."

Brice snorted. "_Mister _Ratchet?" He looked at the medic. "When did you change your title?"

"I didn't. Jane just happens to have better manners than you." Ratchet graced her with a rare smile, "And she's a much better patient than you as well."

"Tch," Brice rolled his eyes. 'That's only 'cause I never come here. I always go to the general hospital nearby."

"I wish you wouldn't," the medic grumbled. "I don't trust those human doctors. They only care about monetary gain."

"They don't get paid unless they do a good job." Brice stood beside the spies berth. "Hey Bee, what're you in here for?"

The mech peered down at the human with a heavy frown. "The Antibots used me for target practice."

Brice patted his friends' foot. "Don't worry; we're keeping a close eye on those idiots. They step outta line again and we'll haul their ass to jail." He chuckled darkly. "We've got Mirage setting up cameras around the camp."

Both mechs grinned in triumph. "Good going, Brice! Those humans won't be able to sneeze without us knowing."

Jane (who was wondering how a giant robot could sneak around setting cameras without being noticed) sat on the edge of her berth and peered down at her boss. "Doesn't that invade their right to privacy?"

The smile on Brice's face turned positively predatory. "Not if the surveillance is carried out by the 'bots. Prime and his officers have diplomatic immunity." He rocked back and forth on his heels, obviously very pleased with himself.

"We're all very impressed with you Brice, but Jane needs to go home and get some rest." Ratchet interrupted his proud smirking and scooped the woman off the berth. Ignoring her startled cry, he set her down beside her boss. She stumbled, trying to regain her balance after that whirlwind ride. Brice grabbed her arm and steadied her.

"Don't be so rough, Ratchet." He chided, before turning to attention to Jane. "Do you think you can walk back to the entrance?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Both humans ignored Ratchet's disbelieving snort as they left the medbay.

* * *

"So tell me about Prowl." Jane looked at Brice expectantly as they entered the now-silent trailer. The sergeant adopted a thoughtful look as he brewed a new pot of coffee.

"Huh, well, he's the second in command of all the Autobots; has been since the beginning of the war. He's very logical and doesn't show his emotions much. He's the army's tactician too. Apparently he's never lost a game of chess, Cybertronian or otherwise."

Jane plopped down on the couch with a tired sigh. "So what does he look like?"

"Big, black and white, blue eyes, rarely every smiles or laughs," He poured the coffee into a travel mug and capped it. "Alright, let's get you home."

Jane followed him outside to the cruiser. "Thanks for driving me around so much. Hopefully I'll be able to afford a car soon. Conner has to use ours to get to work and the hospital."

"It's no problem," the doors clicked open and they climbed in. "The bots can help you out if you need it, too. There's always one or two enjoying the sights in Portland."

"I don't want to bother them"

"You won't. You're one of us now; they won't mind." Brice pulled onto the road leading into the forest. "Let's call it a day and go home."

* * *

The cruiser pulled up along the sidewalk outside of Jane's apartment. She looked up at the brick structure with a relieved sigh; it had been an incredibly long day. "Thanks again, sergeant."

"Just call me Brice," he insisted. "I'll pick you up around five tomorrow. Take care of your head."

"Will do," she climbed out of the car but paused when her feet hit the sidewalk. Turning, she gave the car a salute. "Thank you for the ride, Commander Prowl."

"You are very welcome," the tactician felt Brice stiffen in surprise. "Have a good night, officer."

"You too sir. Bye Brice!" With a bright smile and a bounce in her step, she disappeared into the building."

Brice sat back in the drivers' seat, allowing Prowl to drive him home. "How did she figure it out so fast?"

"She's smart; it almost took you two weeks to figure it out." Was it Brice's imagination, or was that a note of amusement in the cruisers voice?

* * *

**Authors Note: Yay, it's up! I've had this chapter in my notebook for a few days, finally was able to type it up and post it. Darn you homework and job! Had a ton of fun with this chapter; the skinheads section was actually written during my Juvenile Justice class, when we watched a documentary on the Neo Nazi Skinhead Racists that dwell near D.C. It was very interesting.**

**REVIEWS are loved! Even if it's just "****I like it write more****" it helps keep me going!**

**3 Sally**


	4. The Big Bang

**Authors Note: **I didn't like the direction of the other chapter, so I worked on it and ended up doing something COMPELTELY different! I hope ya'll like! Now that the action's started, expect chapters sooner! (Depending on how much homework I get each week…)

**READ & REVIEW PLEASE! Critique and comments keep me writing! :D**

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Fragments

Chapter 4: The Big Bang

"It is highly unlikely that he will make it through the night." The doctor – a young man named Couth – gave the small family a sympathetic look. "You're welcome to stay."

Conner rested his head in his hands with a heavy sigh. Jane set Gabby on the floor with her toys and wrapped him in her arms. The doctor tucked his clipboard beneath his elbow and patted the distraught sons shoulder. "I'll tell the nurses to allow you to stay."

"Thank you," Jane nodded to him.

Conner waited until the doctor entered the nurses' station to speak. "I'll call my sisters and spend the night. You go on home and get some rest."

"Are you sure? I can find a babysitter. Amanda might be able to look after Gabby."

"No," he shook his head. "You had work last night, you must be tired." He stood and scooped Gabby into his arms. "And I don't want her to be around when…when _it _happens. Babies are sensitive."

Jane nodded and picked up the diaper bag, packing away the blocks their daughter had been playing with. "Alright, if you're sure."

"I am. I'll walk you out to the car." He hoisted Gabby onto his shoulders, letting her little feet dangle on either side of his neck. "It's almost five o'clock, and that means dinner and cartoons!"

"Yay!" Gabby threw her arms into the air with a squeal. "Dora! Dora! Dora!"

"Wonderful. You've sentenced me to a night of bad Spanish singing and rhyming."

"You have been meaning to learn another language." Conner pressed the call button for the elevator.

"French or German maybe," Jane slid into the empty car, wincing at the barrage of elevator music, "Something European."

The shared a soft kiss as they rode from the fourth floor to the lobby. A man in a white lab coat and a scruffy beard was waiting for the car, tugging a heavy file box on wheels behind him. A bright red label on the side declared that the contents were dangerous and organic – blood and biological waste. The trio stepped around him and headed for the parking lot.

The security guard bade them good evening as they began their trek across the parking lot, which was packed. Visiting hours were almost over, and everyone was trying to get a few last words in with their sick family members, just in case. Conner's small four-door was parked at the very edge of the lot by the high-way, yellow 'Baby-On-Board' signs hanging from the rear windows.

"Alright baby girl, time to go home!" Conner pulled her off his shoulders and settled her in her car seat.

"Dora!" She cheered, chewing on the head of a panda doll she insisted on riding with whenever they went anywhere. Chuckling, the father shut the door and turned to his wife, who was securing the diaper bag in the passenger's seat.

Jane straightened up and wrapped him tightly in her arms. "I love you," she told him, "And if you need me, just call."

"Of course," he kissed her cheek. "But it will be okay. We've known he was getting worse, so it's not a surprise. I'll call my sisters, and we'll be with our father as he goes." He gave her a rueful smile. "He'll be glad to be with mom again. It'll be a quiet night."

Jane smiled and had just turned to open the driver's door when the hospital exploded.


	5. Aftermath

**Fragments**

**Chapter 5: Aftermath**

Amanda and Zach were deep in conversation when the Autobots arrived. The woman's eyes were puffy and red, though it was hard to see through the flashing lights of the assembled rescue vehicles. Spotting the convoy, Zach gave her a tight hug before hurrying to the fire chiefs' truck, which had become the temporary headquarters for the rescue teams.

Jazz was the first to roll up and transform. "Mandy, you alright?" He knelt and set a finger on her shoulder. She scrubbed at her eyes with her sleeve.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She took a deep breath. "Thanks for coming so quickly. This is a real disaster."

Prowl transformed and crouched beside Jazz. "What happened?" He demanded, turning her mind away from her sorrows.

"Bombs," she straightened up, "Big ones. At least six, probably more. All five wings of the hospital have been decimated." She glanced behind her at the wreckage. "Eight floors, five wings, two large conference halls, and a fully equipped laboratory that took up the entire basement, not to mention the ER and the ambulance bay."

The other Autobots, who had transformed and crowded around so they could hear her, turned to Prowl as the asked the question they were all dreading. "How many estimated dead?"

"At least a thousand," Amanda's voice was trembling, and she focused at the debris at her feet. "There was an international conference being hosted here this week. Tonight was a banquet in honor of the leading surgeons who worked with cancer patients. Five hundred attending doctors, plus the press and some political figures looking for photo ops," she took a deep breath. "Add the patients, nurses, doctors, and visiting family and friends, and you have your final count."

Zach joined the group just as she finished, a man in a yellow fire fighters uniform following him.

"Prowl," the man nodded in greeting, running a hand over his jaw, which was covered with thick salt and pepper stubble.

"Chief Turnstele," the SIC nodded. "I've brought as many troops as the base could spare. Where do you want us?"

Turnstele looked at the gathered mechs. "You know their talents and strengths better than I; put them where they'll do the most good." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Though if your friend Skyfire is near, we need help getting the wounded airlifted to Portland General. Not enough helicopters in the area to take care of everyone."

"I'll see how quickly he can get here," Prowl promised. The fire chief nodded and returned to the truck, shoulders slumped under a weight that no man should carry. Prowl stood and turned to face his men. "Ratchet and First Aid, I want you to scan the building for any signs of life. Jazz, go with Turnstele and help the rescue teams communicate with the other hospitals, and each other. Inferno, keep any hotspots and flames at bay. There may still be flammable or compressed gasses within the wreckage, and we don't need another explosion." Prowl looked at the other soldiers – the Twins, Bluestreak, Hound, Trailbreaker, and nearly all the minibots. "The rest of you, start clearing out the rubble!"

With only a quick salute to acknowledge their orders, the Autobots went to work. Before he moved to join them, Zach caught Prowls attention and motioned for him to lean down.

"Jane is here somewhere," he explained. "She and her family were just leaving when the bombs went off."

"Are they alright?" Jazz butted in, looking uncharacteristically worried.

"Yeah; Conner – her husband – and their baby are at Portland General being treated for shock. Jane is looking for survivors with the rescue teams." He looked at the remains of the building. "The basement was heavily fortified – a lot of lead in the walls for their x-ray machines and biohazard storage. She and some of the others are looking for survivors."

"If you see her, tell her to report to me," Prowls door wings twitched – he was agitated by the situation, but doing his best to hide it.

"Of course Prowl," the man ran a hand through his hair. "But you need to know – her father in law was being treated here. That's why they moved here, after all," he motioned to what was left of the hospital. "The International Oncology Research Institute is known across the world for their technological advances in fighting cancer." He glanced at Amanda, who had followed Jazz to the truck and was gulping down a bottle of water. "This is where Amanda was treated, too."

"That I knew," the mech reminded him, surveying the building with new optics. "I highly doubt that Jane's father-in-law survived the explosion."

"That's why she went charging in headfirst to look for survivors," Zach couldn't help but grin. "She nearly ran in without a mask or a flashlight. Turnstele had to yell at her for almost five full minutes before she gave in and put them on." He shook his head. "You 'n' Brice can really pick 'em, Prowl."

"She cares about people; about saving lives and keeping civilians out of danger. Isn't that what being a police officer is all about?"

The man sobered, "Yeah. It's supposed to be." He pushed his glasses up his nose, wiping dirt off his cheek. "I'm gonna go see if those forensic guys have hacked into the hospitals security cameras yet. Maybe that can give us a clue to chase."

Prowl nodded and watched as the man wove a path through the rubble to a large white van parked by the HQ truck. For a moment, he allowed himself to become lost in his own thoughts, before an excited shout from Ratchet brought him back to the present. He moved to join his soldiers as they began to dig out the first of what would turn out to be very few survivors.

* * *

Jane couldn't breathe and couldn't see, and it was making her very annoyed. The fire and rescue chief, Turnstele, had forced a white cloth mask and a hardhat into her hands and told her that if she was going to help, she would have to be prepared, adrenaline be damned. The light on the front of the hat was flickering like a firefly with the hiccups, and the mask filled her nose with the scent of Clorox with every breath. Ahead of her two other rescue workers were tromping along, blasting the dark and dusty air with high-powered flashlights that looked as though they weighed a ton.

The basement, which was comprised of several small labs and storage rooms stretched out along twisting and turning halls, had withstood the explosion quite well. Debris still fell from the ceiling – chunks of cement and plaster alongside electrical wires and broken fluorescent rods – but all in all it was still solid, for the time being.

Ahead of her, the two workers paused and one tugged off her mask. "I'm not getting any readings down here." She waved a little remote-like device in her hand, which had a screen covered with a grid and blinking lights.

"What is that?" Jane pulled off her own mask as she caught up with the two. The woman handed over the device, and she noticed there was a red Autobot symbol stamped into the back.

"You're buddy Ratchet made it," the other rescuer, a man in his late thirties, fiddled with his radio. "It picks up carbon emissions from human breath. Super powerful little doohickey."

The officer glanced at him, an amused look on her face despite the severity of the situation. He winked at her and raised the radio to his mouth. "Hey chief, there's nothing in the basement. We aren't getting any signs of life."

There was a heavy sigh that made the radio crackle. "Alright," Turnstele's voice filtered through the airwaves, "Do one last sweep the come on back up. The teams searching the auditorium need help."

"Sure thing, chief. Rescue Team B out." He clipped the radio to his belt and the three started forward once more.

The woman shuddered as they passed another x-ray room, which held another eerily-still body. "This is awful. So many people dead…"

Jane reached out and touched her shoulder. "Don't think about it," she told her, "Right now we need to focus on finding the people that are still alive. There will be time to mourn later." The woman nodded and the three continued on.

They had nearly reached the center of the basement when the man paused, peering through the darkness. "Hey, there's something shiny up ahead."

"What are you, ADD? There's shiny stuff _everywhere_." Jane motioned to the destroyed lab equipment that surrounded them.

The man ignored her quip. "This is different," he insisted as they clambered over the rubble. The light caught the object once more, and they could see he was right.

The large freight elevator, which was the very center point of the hospital and used to carry down patients in beds and heavy medical equipment, was wide open and apparently occupied. A man was sitting in the back of the elevator, head slumped over his knees. In front of him was a heavy fire-proof file box on wheels with a bright red label on the side that declared the contents to be hazardous bio-waste. The top of the box was wide open, revealing an intricate number of wires and thick pads of what appeared to be putty. On the inside of the lid was a large, angry purple face.

Jane stared at the putty, face draining of all blood and turning an ashen white. "C-4," she took a step back. "It's a bomb!"

The rescue workers jerked back in surprise. "We've got to get that man out of there!" The woman took a step forward. Jane reached out and jerked her back.

"He's already dead," she pointed out, squinting through the flashlight beams at the corpse. "We have to radio this in and get a bomb squad down here." She continued to backtrack, pulling the woman with her. The man followed, rapidly calling codes into the radio. In no time at all they had made it back to the outside stairwell that led up to the parking lot, in between what was left of the ER and the Ambulance Bay. Men in heavy black armor with 'Bomb Squad' spray painted in bright yellow across their backs were waiting for them.

As soon as they had relayed what they had seen to the group, the squad tromped down the stairs, spot lights blazing and wire clippers in hand. Jane followed the two rescue workers towards the Chief's truck, pulling off her helmet and mask and taking deep breaths of fresh air. Beside the truck, several coolers of different colors and sizes were stacked together, filled to the brim with ice and bottled water. Jane picked one up and finished off half of it in one gulp.

"Careful, kiddo, you'll choke."

Jane jumped, spilling water down the front of her borrowed jumpsuit, and spun on her heel to look up at Jazz. He was grinning, optic band flashing in the setting sun as he sat cross-legged beside the truck. "You've only been here a week and you're already in the thick of trouble."

She looked at up his visor. "You're Jazz, right? The one with the really good hearing?"

He bobbed his head. "Yep, and you're Jane, the new kid."

"I'm not a kid."

He grinned. "Darlin', I'm over a million years old. To me, you're a kid."

Amanda, who was sitting on one of Jazz's knee, silent and still, glanced over at the new officer with a small smile. "Ignore him, Jane. He'll call you kid until he finds a fitting nickname."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Jane smiled at the younger woman. "We found a bomb in the basement. It hasn't been detonated yet; hopefully we'll be able to use it to trace whoever did this."

She shrugged. "This isn't really our jurisdiction. The Portland PD will probably take over as soon as everything settles down, and the government will definitely get involved since it's an international hospital."

Jazz caught Jane's disappointed expression and couldn't help but grin. "Cheer up, kiddo. We'll be keeping close tabs on this place. So did you get a good look at the bomb?"

She nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah; it looked pretty straight forward and simple. C-4 wired to a sparkplug, hidden within a rolling file box. Didn't look like there was a timer on it. The bomb squad will know better than me, though." She ran a hand through her hair, dislodging dust and plaster fragments. "There was a weird symbol on it though. Like a face. It looked familiar for some reason, though for the life of me I can't remember why."

"What did it look like?" Jazz grinned, "Maybe I can Google it."

"It was purple, and looked like a face, although all the edges were sharp." In the fading light, she didn't see the saboteur and officer pale.

Amanda jumped off Jazz's knee and dug out her wallet. "Did it look like this?" She pulled a small piece of paper out of the billfold and held it up. Sketched on it was the same ugly, pointy face Jane had seen in the basement.

"Yeah," she nodded, "That's it. What is it?"

"Jazz," Amanda crumpled the paper in her fist, "Call Optimus. The Decepticons were responsible for this attack."

* * *

DUNDUNDUN!

Please review! It lets me know you like my story, and encourages me to write more!


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